


The Bitch is Back

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Corpses, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam sews Abaddon back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitch is Back

It was the first game of rock paper scissors Sam had ever lost.  
  
And of course it couldn’t be for something innocuous, like a beer run or a particularly boring piece of research. No, Sam had to lose when the stakes were sewing a corpse back together.   
  
And not just any corpse. Abaddon, the knight of hell, who they had no clue how to gank in the long run.  
  
“Just leave the bullet in her head, Sammy,” Dean had said with a grin, before hightailing it out of there with Cas. “I’ll swing by later, once you’re all finished with Home Ec.”  
  
Sam swore at his brother’s back when he left the room.  
  
It wasn’t so bad, once he had gotten into the rhythm of it (and about two thirds into the bottle of Jack oh-so-graciously left by Dean.) Not so bad, that is, as long as he could ignore the foul feeling of dragging an industrial leather needle through flesh. He had patched up cuts before but this was… disgusting.  
  
And then there was the smell of demon blood.  
  
It was intoxicating, and if the give of steel through flesh wigged Sam out, his reaction to the blood repulsed him, but still, he couldn’t hold back the surge of want. It was dark and hot and needy and stirred somewhere in the pit of his groin. Dimly Sam wondered if it was because it had been so long since he had tasted, or if Abaddon’s blood was stronger, older, richer somehow, because of her status. He could almost imagine the first salty taste of it on his lips…  
  
Sam shook himself out of his reverie. What the fuck was he thinking?  
  
Sure, Sam knew that the smart thing to do now would be to call Dean, and tell him that this was too much. After all, he had to understand the effect demon blood might have on him (though why neither of them had thought about that before, hell if Sam knew.)  And Sam had promised to be honest with Dean from now on.  
  
But then again, he didn’t want to look like a fucking pansy. He could handle this. He wasn’t some dumb kid. He had everything under control.  
  
Sam managed to assemble three limbs to the corpse before the pull of the blood called to him again. He was sewing Abaddon’s last leg to her torso (next would be the head, Sam realized with a grimace), when his needle nicked an artery on the body’s inner thigh. Blood spurted in a quick stream and Sam drew in a sharp breath, and then actually licked his lips. The scent of blood was a miasma, and before Sam could stop himself, he had leaned forward, hands braced on Abaddon’s cold thigh as he lowered his head. Sam’s tongue flicked out and he could almost, almost taste it, but then the leg shifted in a way that startlingly reminded Sam that it was still only half sewn to Abaddon and he sat back, horrified.  
  
He could do this. He could do this… right?  
  
It was way too late to call Dean.  
  
Sam sewed the last of Abaddon’s limbs to her body, holding his breath the whole way. The he gingerly picked up her head. For one hilarious second, he actually checked it out. She was kind of a babe, even with her lipstick smeared to hell and her jaw slack. Sam laughed to himself. He was being a douche. But hey, anything to keep back the hunger, right?  
  
He got to work sewing Abaddon’s head back on, and managed it with relieving clarity. Truthfully, the crunch of tendons in the neck was enough to make Sam forget about his bloodlust and start cursing Dean’s name again for an instant. When he was finally finished, he scrambled backwards until he was leaning against the wall and wiped his hands clean, tossed the rag he had used as far from him as he could throw it and took a harsh swallow of whiskey. He was finished. Now he could wait in peace for Abaddon to wake up.  
  
Except she wasn’t waking up.  
  
Sam had long finished his liquor by the time he realized that something wasn’t going right. Abbadon was still a corpse, her skin pale, eyes shut. Wasn’t she supposed to reanimate now?  
  
The bullet. As soon as Sam realized it, his stomach dropped. Maybe she would stay dead until the bullet was drawn out of her skull. He had to go back in.  
  
It was a testament to how drunk Sam was that he didn’t do the logical thing and wait for Dean and Castiel. After all, sewing back together a body was one thing. Springing it from its devil’s trap was another thing completely. Dean and Cas would have wanted to be there. And they’d be seven shades of pissed if he did it on his own.   
  
But against Sam’s better judgement, he crawled back towards Abaddon, swaying more than a little, a slender pair of pliers in hand. Once he had reached her, Sam grabbed her jaw with his free hand, and poked the pliers inside the bullet wound, thrusting upwards until he felt the scrape of metal against metal. Old blood was running down his hands again, and Sam wasn’t affected by it, didn’t want to be affected by it, and still he knew he was being affected by it, that gnawing tug towards strength and euphoria he knew was only the brush of a tongue away. He tried to concentrate on the bullet, on easing it out of its nest of tissue and drawing it downwards, carefully, his teeth grit and his breath shallow until he had pulled the bullet all the way out and dropped it, with a satisfying clink, on the concrete ground.  
  
Sam let out a deep breath, and relaxed. He had done it. Now he only needed to leave Abaddon in the devil’s trap they had sprayed on the floor, wash his hands, and be done with this crap. Dean never had to know how close he’d come.  
  
Abaddon woke a lot quicker than he had expected. Sam had begun to back away, shakily, when her eyes snapped open and her arms shot out, grabbing a double fistful of Sam’s shirt and pulling him down to her.  
  
“Normally I like to be bought dinner before being manhandled like that, Sam,” Abaddon hissed before kissing Sam, full on the lips. Sam jerked his head back, but Abaddon quickly caught his face in her hands and kissed him harder, their mouths fused together. Abaddon’s lips and tongue were thick with demon blood, and with every drop he swallowed, Sam could feel his unearthly strength harden even as his resolve weakened.   
  
Maybe he was drunk, or maybe it was the thrum of demon blood he could already feel coursing through him, but Sam couldn’t fight this anymore. Moreover, he didn’t want to. He made a strangled noise, half relieved, half in grief, and then he was kissing Abaddon back, licking his way into her mouth and sucking down on her tongue. Abaddon lifted her hips, seeking friction, but Sam shoved her flat back against the ground and pinned her there with one hand. He broke apart from Abaddon’s mouth and licked a long stripe under her chin, where the bullet wound was already beginning to knit together, tasted congealed blood and tissue, and finally, finally, succumbed.


End file.
